"To bathe first" Salviana whispered suddenly she wished she had choosen to cuddle instead of going fo this breakfast.
The steam in the en-suite chamber rose in thick, pearlescent swirls, carrying the scent of crushed jasmine and expensive oils. The bathtub, a masterpiece of carved white marble supported by gilded lion's paws, was large enough to be a small pool. It sat beneath a stained-glass window that filtered the morning light into shards of amethyst and gold, casting a mosaic of colors across the churning, rose-petal-strewn water.
Alaric didn't let her go immediately. He carried her to the edge of the tub, his movements fluid and strong. The transition from the bed to the bath was a slow dance of discarded silk. As their nightclothes fell away, the air in the room seemed to vibrate with a new kind of tension—not the jagged, desperate heat of the previous night's confession, but a soft, languid intimacy that felt like a sanctuary.
